


Louder Than Sirens

by Linden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Lace Panties, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pretty Boys Being Naughty in Public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linden/pseuds/Linden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sure, it had seemed like a perfectly fine idea at the <em>time</em>, Sammy heading off with his teammates to some post-game house party in the sticks, but now Dean was having second thoughts.</p><p>[There was supposed to be an actual story here, folks, seriously--ghosts! and a barn! with a haunted owl!--but it sort of slid sideways into "Sam being a tease and then coming in his pants."  Um.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title hails from Flo + The Machine's marvelous _The Drumming Song_ , which would totally have shown up in the fic had it not been (so very inconveniently, for my purposes) released in 2009.

**October 2000**

Easing through a crush of what appeared to be every student and his three cousins from Sammy's high school, and possibly also everyone else under the age of thirty in south-central Indiana, Dean decided—really calmly, he felt, when you considered the situation—that he was going to beat his little brother to death with a shoe.

'Cause yeah, sure, it had seemed like a perfectly fine idea at the  _time_ , Sammy heading off with his teammates to some post-game house party in the sticks; Dean hadn't been particularly worried about it when he'd gotten home from the garage and found his little brother's note, had just settled in for a quiet (lonely) evening in front of the TV with the last of the leftover mac-and-cheese and a couple of beers. But it had seemed a little less fine around midnight, when Sam had been both an hour past curfew and also not answering his fuckin' phone; and it seemed like an utterly crap idea  _now_ , after Dean had been forced to pilot Baby up a long gravel drive that had probably pinged the hell out of her undercarriage, and soon thereafter only narrowly dodged a kid upchucking vodka and Cheetos all over the porch, and was now making his very crowded way through this ridiculously huge farmhouse looking for the little shit who belonged to him. Seriously, this was not how he'd planned to spend his night. But he was pretty sure he was gonna get his ass tanned if their dad rolled back into town to find that Sammy was still sleeping off a hangover in someone's freakin' cornfield or something, so it's not like he had a whole lot of  _choice_  in the matter. John was due back in Elletsville by morning.

He collared a mostly sober-looking kid near a beer pong table and asked if he knew Sam Winchester, and then if he knew where Sam Winchester was, and then a few minutes later Dean was making his way down a narrow stair into a deep, deep basement that ran the full length of the house. The music down here was loud enough that the air was damn near vibrating with it, and someone had set up strobe and  _laser_  lights, Jesus (seriously, who the hell were these people?), and despite his totally appropriate and fully justified homicidal irritation with his AWOL baby brother, Dean felt himself relaxing a little all the same, hips and shoulders loosening up in response to the bone-deep, blood-deep  _thrum_  of the drum line in a song he was in no way gonna cop to knowing was Vertical Horizon. (Sam listened to this shit. It wasn't his fault.) Warm bodies were pressed in close all around him, and the crush was oddly . . . it was oddly  _comforting_ , somehow, all of them caught up in the same beat and under the same spell; without particularly meaning to, Dean found himself settling into the same easy rhythm as he slid through the crowd looking for Sam, and he was half-dizzy and more than half turned-on by the time he spotted a familiar shaggy head nearby.

His mouth went a little dry.

He was pretty sure Sam had left their trailer in, y'know,  _clothes_  that morning, but at some point since the kid had apparently lost his shirt along with his shoes, because right now he was barefoot and wearing only Dean’s old button-fly jeans, his bony hipbones peeking out from where the denim sat low and loose, miles of smooth scarred beautiful skin on display in the colored light. There was a green glow necklace around his throat and two matching bracelets on one wrist, and what had damn well better not have been a joint burning between the knuckles of his other hand, and Dean was wondering when in the hell his uptight, geeky, library loving, math-team joining, but-these-are-the- _rules_ -for-Yahtzee-Dean-and-I’m-not-playing-if-we-don’t-follow-them bitchfacing little brother had turned into a goddamn  _raver_ , seriously, because the little nerd seemed utterly at home right now, and not even the tiniest bit nerd-like: hair messy in his face, one arm loose around the waist of a girl grinding back against him, pretty mouth tilting to a grin as he turned his head to let someone tip a beer bottle to his lips. He looked relaxed and carefree and utterly at ease; he looked  _happy,_ Jesus, and also really rather annoyingly hot; and Dean's annoyance with him was ratcheting up into another emotion entirely as another song came on, heavy on the bass, heavy on the guitar. He wanted his mouth on that skin.

He was about ten feet away, maybe, when Sam saw him. Dean wasn't quite certain what he expected—he was putting even odds on either panicked or pissy, frankly—but his brother's face just lit up like a little kid’s at Christmas, and yeah, okay, fine, so maybe Dean's heart gave a happy  _thump_  at that, whatever. Handing the glowing butt between his fingers to someone nearby, Sam untangled himself from the girl in front of him—even through the strobe light, Dean could see her pout—and started moving toward him. His grin was a flash of ivory in the dark, and before Dean could speak the kid was wrapping himself happily around him, long-fingered hands cradling the back of Dean's head and pulling him down into a kiss, mouth hot and familiar and demanding and tasting only like Heineken and tobacco and spice (all right, not a joint, good, but  _cloves_ , seriously? Sammy was smoking douchebag hippy  _cloves_ , now?). Dean had his hands on his brother’s slim hips and was pulling him in close, their tongues sliding together warm and wet and his cock getting all sorts of happy in his pants, before he remembered that he was pissed at him.

He tugged his mouth free from Sam’s and pushed him back a little, though he was still stroking over those hipbones with his thumbs and couldn’t get himself to stop. He swallowed. He breathed. In the shifting lights his brother looked sharp-edged and fey and impossibly beautiful, and Dean's blood was up and the music was loud and he could feel the thrumming of the bass through the soles in his feet. ‘Sammy—’

‘ _Finally_.’ Sam’s voice was raspy and turned-on, his smile dimpled and little-boy bright, and the contrast between merciless tease and sweet baby brother shot straight to Dean’s cock—which really didn’t need the extra help right now, thanks ever so. Sam stepped back into Dean’s space, slid his hands up to cup Dean’s skull again, nuzzled at the soft skin of his throat. He pushed his nose into the crook of Dean's neck and inhaled; Dean felt his knees weaken, just a little, the same way they did every damn time his brother did that to him, and from the smile Sam was pressing into his skin, the little shit knew it, too. 'You were supposed to get all cranky and come looking for me, like, an hour ago,' he murmured, one lean thigh sliding in between Dean's legs, flexing against his crotch. He bit, not especially gently, and Dean felt the white heat of it in his gut, in his groin, knew Sammy could feel him getting hard. 'I had this plan,' Sam continued, soothing Dean's tender skin with his tongue. 'Been  _waiting_.'

Dean wasn't entirely certain when he'd given his arm permission to snake around his little brother's waist, nor when he'd started moving in time with Sammy to the music, in a slow easy filthy grind that was redirecting ninety-five percent of the blood away from his brain. But. He'd get on that in a minute. 'Yeah?' he managed. 

'Mm-hmm.' He could just barely hear his brother beneath the music, but Christ, the kid's mouth felt good. He sucked, nipped; Dean swallowed the soft pleasured sound trying to force its way out of his throat, admitted that maybe he wasn't so much pissed anymore as he was hopelessly and painfully turned on. 

'You gonna tell me about it?'

Sam's hand tightened, just a little, where it had slid to rest against the back of Dean's neck, and he said nothing for a moment.  Then: 'Wanted you to dance with me.' He pushed his face into the side of Dean's throat again, breathed him in. 'Wanted you to come upstairs with me after.'

There was an oddly vulnerable note in his brother's voice, something Dean hadn't heard from him since he'd been little, whenever Sam had asked for a second bag of peanuts in the car, for an ice cream at a rest stop, for just one more spoonful from their one box of mac and cheese. Dean ran a hand up the length of his spine, sank his fingers into his brother's soft tousled hair. Tugged, not entirely gently, until Sam tipped his pretty face back just enough so that Dean could meet his gaze. The two of them were close enough that Sam's breath was ghosting warm across Dean's mouth, close enough that he could see just a trace of anxious nerves in his little brother's eyes beneath the bossy teasing and the lust, the faintest worry that he was pushing too hard, asking for too much; and Dean wished, fiercely, that he could find a way to tell him that he never needed to be nervous, not about this, that there was nothing Sam could ever ask for from him that Dean wouldn't give him if he could, and gladly. He kissed him instead, thoroughly, and hoped his little brother could taste the words on his tongue. Their father was five hours away, and none of Sam's friends here knew that they were brothers; if the kid wanted to pretend he was just a normal high school brat for a night, wanted to make out at a party and then tumble into some stranger's bedroom, it's not like that was gonna be a  _burden_.

'Dancin', huh?' Dean murmured, when both of them could breathe again, and tried to ignore the way his heart clenched happily when Sam's face lit up in response. Jesus, he was so far fucking gone for his baby brother that it frightened him, sometimes. He let his grip ease up on the kid's hair, stroked a thumb along one high cheekbone. 'Coulda just called me, Sammy.'

'Yeah.' Sam looked penitently down at their feet for a moment, then back up at him through his lashes, little-boy sweet, before he grinned. 'But pissing you off is kinda more fun.'

Dean's mouth twitched. He turned Sam with strong hands on his hips, tugged him back against him. 'You're a pain in my ass, you know that?' he murmured, mouthing along the long curve of his little brother's neck.

Sam laughed, breathless and hot and happy. 'Yeah.' He tipped his head back against Dean's shoulder, giving him more room to work. 'Gonna do something about it?' he asked.

Dean let one his hands slide from his brother's hip to the front of his jeans, cupped the hardening swell of his cock, and grinned against Sam's skin at the soft, shocked sound that caught in his throat. 'Maybe,' he said. He gave him one teasing stroke, arm tightening around Sam's ribs to keep the kid still as he squirmed happily against him. No one was paying them the least bit of attention here in the crowded dark, but it was still a  _rush_ , Jesus, being able to have his hands and mouth on his little brother like this in public. He thumbed the top button of Sam’s jeans open to give himself room to slide his other hand in just a little beneath the waistband, cool against Sam’s hot silken skin. He froze half a heartbeat later at the feel of something soft and unexpected against his fingers.

Lace.

Christ on a crutch, his brother was  _wearing panties._

Sam eeled out of his grasp while Dean was still busy cataloguing the sensation of his brain melting in a series of white-hot  _pop-pop-pops_  in his skull, looked back at him over one shoulder.   _I had this plan_. Disheveled, flushed, the first button of his fly still popped and a bruise already reddening on his throat from Dean’s mouth, Sam grinned—sunbright, dimpled, eyes mischievous and merry and  _wicked_  in the flickering light—and slid into the sea of dimly-lit bodies all around them.


	2. Chapter 2

It took a good thirty minutes for Dean to get his little brother on a bed, because his little brother was, in the event that anyone were _unclear_ on this question, a fuckin’ tease. (And it’s not like this was, y’know, news or anything, but still. Kid should have come with a warning label.) Sammy never slipped far enough away that Dean lost sight of him in the crowd, but Dean couldn’t get close enough to _touch_ him, damn it, because he was fast on his feet and as slippery as a goddamned weasel, and chasing him was frustrating and exasperating and also really impossibly hot, and more fun than Dean had had in a long, long time.

He finally caught the little brat in the middle of the dance floor, when Sam fell for a left feint and tried to dodge and ended up slamming right into him instead. The kid grinned up at him as Dean twined a hand in all that ridiculous hair again; let Dean kiss him and feel up his pretty ass before twisting away from him with a sweet, sweet move (and a grin, and what Dean was morally certain had been a packet of lube stashed in his back pocket.) It was ten minutes before Dean got his hands on him again, fifteen before he pushed him into a corner and marked him up a little in the dark—mouth working at his neck, hands gripping bruise-tight around his wrists where he had them pinned against the wall. He bit and sucked and soothed his way up the side of Sam’s throat, caught the kid’s soft hungry mouth with his; stroked over the soft skin of his wrists with his thumbs as he kissed him, hips pressed in tight. He was hard enough that his jeans were starting to get fucking painful by the time he lifted his head, just a little, and looked down at his little brother, who was all angles and bones in the flickering light.

‘You gonna behave?’

Sam was flushed and panting and not entirely steady on his feet, but his grin was bright and cocky, all the same. ‘You gonna let me go and find out?’

Dean felt his mouth twitch. He pulled Sam’s wrists together so that he could wrap one hand around them both, then trailed his other hand down Sam’s arm and over his ribs and across his hip to palm at his big pretty cock again. The back of the kid's head hit the wall with an audible _thunk_ , and Dean worked at him for a little while through the worn denim of his jeans, quick and rough, until Sam's slim hips were twisting and his breath was fast and shallow and he was giving up these soft, hiccupping little moans at every squeeze.

‘I’m gonna take you upstairs and tie you up, ‘s what I’m gonna do, little brother,’ Dean promised softly, and grinned as Sam’s cock twitched, hard, beneath his hand. ‘Don’t think I can’t trust you to stay put on your own, you know?’ He tightened up his grip on his wrists, pressed hard against his cock; the sound Sam made was beautifully obscene. Dean ducked his head a little to get his mouth against Sam’s ear, let his voice go raw and hoarse and growly. He knew what that did to the kid, every time, and he was a good half an hour past playing fair. ‘What do y'think? Can I trust you, Sammy?’

He could sense Sam's breathless grin, even if he couldn't see it, and the kid shook his head, wordless, strung-out, blissful. Dean kept hold of his wrists as he stepped back away from him and hauled him up the stairs. The second floor hall was crowded with kids with red Dixie cups and loud voices; the third was quiet and dark, doors standing open. Dean ducked through one, flipped on the light; he took in only that the room was empty and had a bed that looked roughly the size of Texas before he had Sam face-down across it maybe as many as seven seconds later, door locked behind them, both of the kid's hands pinned in the small of his back. Sam was _whining_ , high and sweet; Dean worked his own buckle open with his free hand and yanked his belt loose, and had the leather wrapped around Sam's wrists and was wrenching it tight when Sam's hips bucked hard and sudden beneath his and his little brother let out a series of short, startled moans, rocking against the mattress, before he whimpered and went still.

Dean stared down at his bare back in disbelief. ' . . . dude, did you just come?'

Sam made a soft, pitiful whine and appeared to be trying to bury his face deeply enough in the pillows that he would end up under the bed.

Dean felt a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth, triumphant and amused, and trailed two calloused fingers down his brother’s pretty spine. ‘Saaaaammy,’ he sing-songed, teasing, and laughed, utterly delighted, as a red flush started creeping up his little brother’s neck, darkening his ears. He bent to nip at the side of his throat. ‘Did you just come for me in your pretty panties, little brother?’ he whispered, letting the hand on Sam’s back slide down to caress his ass through his jeans. ‘Hmm?’

‘Shut up,’ Sam muttered, voice muffled.

'I think you did.'

'Shut _up,_  Dean.'

'Yeah, that ain't gonna happen, kiddo.'

' . . . I hate you.'

'Uh-huh.' Still grinning, Dean tugged his belt free of his little brother's wrists ( _next time_ , whispered a soft, greedy voice somewhere in the back of his mind, _next time_ ), then went up on his knees and slid a warm palm around one his little brother's bony hips. 'C'mere, Speedy,' he said.

Sam threw his arm over his eyes as Dean rolled him onto his back, face still flushed with orgasm and embarrassment both, and Dean was torn between the desire to get Sam in a headlock so that he could noogie the hell out of him and to kiss him until neither one of them could see straight, because the fact that his little brother would let him get a hand on his cock in public on a dance floor and then still be shy with him three minutes later was hilarious and kind of endlessly adorable. He popped the buttons on Sam's fly instead, tugged his jeans a little way down his strong lean thighs, felt his own cock pulse out a warm wet slick as he sat back a bit on his heels to take in the pretty picture his brother made in his damp panties. The scrap of teal lace was as hot as anything he'd seen on any of the girls he'd ever fucked, but this pair was cut for a _man_ , Jesus, not a woman; Sam's sack sat snug in a soft lace cup, his softening cock cradled close and warm against his stomach. Dean stroked carefully along its underside through the wet lace, thumbed across the still-swollen, too-sensitive head. Sam cried out, hands flying up to fist in Dean's shirt, but he didn't push him away.

'So fuckin' pretty, little brother,' Dean murmured. He squeezed Sam's hips once, hard. His palms were rough, and the lace was silky and Sam's skin was like velvet; the contrast was delicious. 'Where'd you get these, hmm?' He fished the packet of lube he'd felt in Sam's back pocket earlier out of his rucked-down jeans, ripped it carefully open with his teeth, slicked up three fingers. Slid his wet hand in between Sam's thighs, pushed the crotch of his panties to one side. 'Tell me.'

'Indianap— _fuck,_ ' he gasped, as Dean slid one finger up inside of him. His head knocked back against the pillows, and Dean was never going to get over how responsive the kid was for him. 'In Indian—Indianapolis,' he finally managed. He swallowed, wetly. 'When we were up for the game, last weekend.'

'Yeah?' He thought of his little brother in the dressing room of a sex shop, warm bare skin and long long legs and a pile of pretty colored things beside him, bit his lip against the punch of want that tightened his gut, throbbed in his cock. Slid the thumb of his free hand beneath the silken band at the top of Sam's leg, stroked the wet messy skin beneath. 'You try on different pairs for me, Sammy?'

'Y-yeah,' he whispered.

'You gonna let me come with you next time and watch?'

'Dean, Jesus,' he whispered, arching, and Dean grinned and bent to kiss him, fingers still working slow and deep and just a little bit rough between Sam's legs. Sam whimpered into his mouth, hands clenched still in his tee, slim arms folded up between them. His jeans were still pushed only a little way down past his hips, forcing his thighs together, making everything inside of him that much tighter; Dean licked into his mouth and fucked him open on his fingers, and Sam panted and squirmed and whined around the stretch. The kid was hard again by the time Dean finished getting him ready, the thick purplish head of his cock pushing up past the waistband of his soaking panties, and it's not like anyone could _blame_ him, Dean felt, for letting his fingers slip free to tug all that lace down to just above Sam's jeans, and definitely not for getting a grip on his brother's hips and sliding down his lean beautiful body to take a taste.

. . . and seriously, he'd killed harpies who'd made less noise than that.

Suckling on just a mouthful of Sam's cock, tongue flexing against the underside and lips tucked over his teeth, Dean listened to his little brother moan and felt a wet pulse of precome spurt hot and salty into his mouth. He hummed in satisfaction, swirled his tongue and pressed it warm and wet into his little brother's slit to coax out more, tightened his hands on Sam's slim hips to keep him still, looked up at him after a moment through his lashes. Sam was looking back at him, mouth parted, eyes huge and dark and wanting and utterly lost; there was a pretty flush staining the kid's chest and throat and cheeks again, and a thin sheen of sweat shining over the goosebumps all across his skin, and Dean felt the sharp, sweet kick of it behind his ribs: how much he loved making Sam fall apart for him, because his little brother shattered more beautifully than anyone Dean knew.

'De.' Sam's voice was wrecked, breathless, his hands clumsy as they skittered across Dean's broad shoulders, tugged weakly at his hair. 'Dean come on, man, please.'

He stroked his thumbs over Sam's sharp hipbones and gave one more good suck, mostly to hear the sound it knocked out of Sam's chest, then pulled off with a soft, wet _pop_. 'Don't move,' Dean murmured, pushing himself up and off the bed just long enough to strip off his own clothes. He spilled the rest of the lube into his palm, slicked up his cock; swung a knee back over Sam's slim hips to straddle him and flipped the kid onto his stomach, easy, jeans and panties still caught around his thighs. He nudged his cock in between his brother's firm cheeks, pushed it up against his soft hole, braced his hands in the small of Sam's back to keep him flush against the mattress as Sam tried to get his elbows under him. His brother made a hot, stuttering little sound as Dean finally started to ease inside of him, the kid's hands coming up to grip either side of the pillow, fingers clenching tight. 'I gotcha, little brother,' Dean murmured, settling his weight on him, chest sliding against his back. He nuzzled at the crook of his neck as he rocked deeper into the slick silk of his ass, spearing him open easy and slow, half-drunk on the feel of it, on the pressure and the heat and the way his brother just let him get _inside him_ like this. He had never gotten over how vulnerable Sammy let himself be with him, knew it was a gift, wondered how in the hell he'd ever proven himself worthy of it.

Sam whimpered as Dean sank all the way in, turned his head, blindly, to search for his brother's mouth; Dean kissed him over his bare shoulder, warm and wet, deep and messy. _Love you_ , he wanted to say, against his brother's panting, pretty mouth, _love you, love you_ , but the words were locked up in his chest, a keen ache just behind his breastbone, and he rolled his hips instead, bit on his brother's soft lower lip, settled into the rough, deep thrusts Sammy liked as soon as he was opened up enough to take them. Kissed wetly along the side of his brother's neck as Sam turned his face into the pillow to muffle his moans, squeezed his own eyes shut against his sharp, desperate desire to come. Sam was so fucking _tight_ like this, Jesus, and the lace of his panties was a soft, soft contrast to the rough scrape of his jeans against Dean's thighs, and Dean wasn't going to be able to last long, no matter how much he wanted to.

 _Mine,_ he thought, dizzily, as the bed frame started creaking beneath them. _Mine, mine._

'Dean,' Sam gasped. ' _Dean_.'

He wanted Sam to come again. Wanted him to make a mess all over the blanket, all over himself; knew from the way his little brother was squirming that the kid was already close. He bit at the sweet spot just below Sam's left ear, felt the tight pleasure already coiling in his own gut and at the base of his spine ratchet up at the desperate sound Sam made at the feel of it, at the way he stuttered out Dean's name again, long and low. Dean shifted the angle of his hips just a little on his next thrust, and Sam jerked like he'd been shocked with a live wire, fingers scrabbling, toes curling as he moaned into the pillows, loud and wordless and sweet.

'There's my boy,' Dean whispered, without breaking his rhythm, his mouth brushing against Sam's ear, and he grinned, shakily, at the shudder that juddered down his little brother's spine at his voice. 'Want you to come for me, sweetheart,' he continued, biting another possessive kiss into his little brother's neck. 'Just like this. Can you, Sammy?'

Sam nodded, frantically, a high, sobbing noise strangling in his throat.

'Yeah?'

'Please.' His voice was slurry. 'Dean, Jesus, please, please please, I just— _God_ , I need— _please—_ '

Dean pushed himself up on his hands to put all of his weight behind his thrusts; Sam made a hoarse, helpless sound, goosebumps breaking out across his shoulders, and he lasted maybe another five seconds before he was coming again all over the blanket beneath them. Dean choked back a moan as the kid clenched up around him, and a heartbeat later he was spilling into his brother's warm body, orgasm sparking hot and bright and sudden up his spine. He rocked them both through the pulses of it, so strong, so _good_ , and the rush left him dizzy even as it faded, his world filled with nothing but Sam's warmth and silken skin and sated, sleepy voice murmuring _Dean, Dean_.

He let himself drop limp across his little brother's back, Sam bony and warm beneath him, and ducked his head a little to nuzzle at the side of the kid's throat, just wanting the closeness for a moment, the blind comfort of his scent. Sam's hands were sliding free from the pillow to fold lazily around his own; Dean let him twine their fingers together, calloused and warm, utterly familiar. There was bone-deep, blood-deep contentment seeping through his body, weighing down every one of his limbs. Dean didn't expect to ever see thirty, but if there were any justice at all in the world, he was going to spend all of his afterlife exactly like this.

 _I had this plan,_ his little brother had said.

'Good plan, Sammy,' he managed at last, hoarsely, and Sam laughed, worn-out and happy, squeezed his hands, let go, gave him a gentle nudge to get him moving. Dean pulled carefully out on a slow, steady wash of semen and lube, flopped down on his back beside his little brother, turned his head to look at him. Sam was watching him with tired, contented eyes, one cheek on his pillow, hair falling forward into his face. Dean stopped himself from brushing the kid's hair back out of his eyes like a complete and utter sap, but only barely.

'Okay?' he asked instead.

Sam smiled at him, soft and fond, nodded, yawned, and then proceeded to kick and wriggle and generally make a nuisance of himself until he managed to get his jeans and panties off without getting up. He curled into Dean's side once he'd managed it, out of the mess they'd made of the blanket, dark head on his chest and long legs tangled with his. Dean pulled at the heavy comforter beneath them until it came loose from the side of the bed, and then tugged it free and folded the clean half over them both, soft and heavy and welcome. Sam made a happy sound at the warmth of it, tucked himself more firmly into Dean's arms. The kid always liked to cuddle, after, and though sometimes he snuggled back against Dean to be cradled like a little spoon, mostly he curled up with him like this, the way they'd slept as kids in God only knew how many roadside motels and crap tenements and trailers, and Dean never knew quite what to do with the conflicting waves of guilt ( _brother brother he's your baby brother you never should have touched him brother_) and comfort ( _Sammy Sammy my Sammy mine_ ) it stirred in him.

Mostly, these days, he just ignored them.

Sam pressed a kiss to his collarbone, devoted and soft, and Dean lifted a hand to cup the back of his skull. They needed to clean themselves up, and they needed to get back to their crap trailer before John came home, but Dean couldn't bring himself to move quite yet, and he was pretty sure Sam wasn't gonna mind. He stroked his little brother's hair, gently, then rolled his eyes and smiled at the soft, happy way Sam sighed.

'Such a girl,' he murmured, rubbing at his scalp with his thumb.

Sam flipped him off, lazily. 'You love it,' he said, with certainty, scrubbing his cheek against Dean's shoulder as he pushed his head into Dean's hand. 

Dean snorted out a laugh, tugged on the silky strands tangled in his fingers. Turned his mouth into Sam's soft hair. 'Maybe,' he admitted, because he was still riding the high of a pretty awesome orgasm, okay, and he was warm and comfy and had Sam cuddled up sleepy and naked in his arms, and aside from a hamburger and a couple of beers appearing on the beside table in about five minutes' time, there was nothing else he needed in the world.

Sam twined long fingers around the amulet on Dean's chest. 'You love _me_ ,' he added—though his voice quieter now, less certain, and the hesitant yearning in it tugged at something painful in Dean's chest.

He ran a hand down his little brother's spine, let it drift back up, squeezed the back of his neck, gently. 'Yeah,' he agreed, softly, and felt Sam smile, slow and sweet and happy, against his skin.


End file.
